Happily Ever After
by openwide-skies235
Summary: Draco doubts the presence and existence and love in this world. But after Harry Potter...he isn't sure about anything more. Could it be possible that he does fall in love- Read and review, maybe? *awkward grin*


Hi everyone reading this incomplete story of mine.

Before you begin to read this...

**WARNINGS**

**Vulgarities present**

**Incomplete and I'm a reaaaallly slooooow updater (trust me on this guys) **

**Barely vetted properly and definitely not beta'd (I'M REALLLLY sorry if you find dumb grammatical errors in the story. It's my fault. Please do tell me if you find them though...think of it as a treasure hunt? :] ) **

**I'll update only on this chapter... still not sure if I'm doing more than one chapter...what dya people think? **

**I'm young and untrained and inexperienced. Give me a shot so I can improve? Pretty please? **

**This is short. Like the story, not that last sentence. **

The sun, slowly sinking behind the watery horizon that divides the sky from the wide, expanse patch known as the sea. The vivid colors of the sunset were reflected onto the glossy surface of the waters, somewhat smeared together as the water rippled and brushed against the sand soaked in a gold hue.

The word _beauty _alone wasn't enough to describe this scene, so pure that it could have been an image fallen out from carefully crafted fairytales. It seemed like one of the scenes that princes ride off into on sleek white horses, dainty princesses seated behind them, both deeply in love, going off into _Happily Ever After. _

It was a happy thought. Even if it would never happen in real life. The reasons were simple.

Firstly, this is _life. _The same life that seems so calm, so mild at first then stabs you in the back when you aren't paying attention. I mean, _come on. _Seriously? Isn't this already all the reasons needed? Only _children_ believed in these pretentious stories.

Secondly- there was a reason all this shit was found in fairytales or fucking romance novels. It's a reflection of the thirst; desire that people wanted to feel in their lives. He had never encountered people who were really, truly in love. His parents were divorced before he was born; he only saw his father's face from a photograph his mom had left carelessly lying around once.

Just that once.

His mother didn't suspect a thing, of course, but the next time he went into the room, the picture was gone.

_True love. _The things people write are _ridiculous_. But what really irked him the most was the fact that people actually believed in 'Love at First Sight'. Like- come on. Even if you _do _fall in love, it won't be just by looking at a person's appearance. What the fuck happened to not judging a book by its cover?

Damn this shit.

And then, in the young age of 10, even before he went to Hogwarts, he promised himself -he solemnly swore to himself- that he would never date someone, never marry someone, and never, ever have the illusion that he was _in love_ with someone.

What an idiotic prospect, being in love.

Love just brings hate, anger, agony, despair; sorrow…insanity? The list goes on and on. And on.

Sometimes, he just got so frustrated he felt like throwing breakable items against the white-washed walls of his apartment. Lies. Lies about love. Getting people so infatuated, so hopeful of the prospect of being loved by someone that they'd give up everything, and then lose it all, realizing what have done.

He didn't even understand why he was getting so worked up over this topic.

Wouldn't the world function well without love, without marriage? Without having to care about it, they could abandon those emotional ties; go with whoever they want every single day…

It sounds weird when he says these opinions to other people. But it felt; sounded _so _right in his mind.

His name is Draco Malfoy. He was a Slytherin, an only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, once a Death Eater serving The Dark Lord, or _Lord Voldemort _as many people called him now.

The Dark Mark was still branded onto his arm, a permanent tattoo, a permanent reminder of the things he had done wrong. Agreeably, it _was_ true that he was heavily influenced by his father, who in turn was faced with an unspoken punishment that if his son was a traitor, the whole family would be living like hell under the hand of The Dark Lord.

It was the only way he was able to walk into his minor job with his head held high –by pushing the blame; the cause of his actions onto others' shoulders. He was still heavily looked down on the entire Wizarding Society, believing that he was scum, dirt; an infectious disease.

Better than getting beat up in dark alleyways.

But deep, deep down inside, he knew that he could never take the judging, hatred-filled glares aimed at him for much longer. The strain placed upon him was too heavy, and every day, slowly, he was sinking deeper and deeper into the pits of misery and self-depression.

And he knew, soon, he would run away, like the coward he was. Better a coward than suffocation in the mountain of fury directed at him.

He ran away a month later, quickly filing in the resignation letter and fleeing into the Other World. The Muggle World. The place where no one knows who he is and what he is; he would be nothing more than a stranger, a man. All his magical possessions he left in Gringotts, taking out only Galleons he transferred into Muggle currency.

And down an empty street devoid of vehicles, he breathed in the fresh air of the countryside, expecting to feel free, the weight of the Wizarding world already left. But, no. It wasn't. He felt empty inside, memories of the people he had betrayed, killed, tortured. The faces of victims contorted in pain, hurt, loss flashed before his eyes, in quick succession.

So fast. The memories crashed in, one after another, leaving him gasping for air, on his knees, his forehead touching the warm gravel, hands beside him up, propping himself up slightly. Submitting to the inner demons that were controlling him. That always controlled him.

His chest was constricted; he can't breathe. Quick breaths. In, out. He fought against the tears that threatened to fall. Self-pity might be the only thing that's keeping him alive right now.

No, _no, _Malfoys don't fucking cry. They _don't. _Stop it Draco Malfoy. Pick yourself up now and get a damn house. Now. So that's what he did.

Reaching a city, he bought an apartment. On the 13th floor. He didn't really give a shit about luck right now. Like, seriously, how much more screwed up can his life be?

He moved in.

7 YEARS LATER

It was humid day, sweat was dripping off his skin in rivers, he could drink a bucket of ice water in one gulp (it's an exaggeration, for your information), he wished it could be winter, and he wished he had a power given to the problematic, non-evil witch in the new movie by Disney- Frozen. Elsa? Yep, that ability to make it snow over people seemed like a really, really awesome thing right now, whatever she thinks about it.

Oh, and while we're on the topic of Disney, let's criticize love some more, shall we?

That thing in Frozen about the 'love can conquer all' seems really screwed up. But, damn, Draco can't argue with the fact that the twist at the climax/almost ending part was pretty goddamned awesome.

Though why he watches Disney with the knowledge of all the love themes? He would really have a definite answer. Maybe because it's fun to watch and criticize movies at the same time.

This is all I wrote folks! Be right back (in about a decade)


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